The Will To Live
by TheLittlestAuthor
Summary: Canada becomes ill, and he's not getting any better. Medication isn't working and that's because, quite frankly, he doesn't have the will to live anymore. Alfred tries to knock some sense into his brother, but the man just isn't buying it. Canada/America


**A/N: Before I start, I want to give a few warnings. It's rated T for slight language and there's also a little (very little) England bashing in here, but I don't really think it's enough to make anyone hate the guy :) I hope you guys like the story, it was just a quick one-shot I came up with awhile back. Enjoy!**

* * *

Canada let out a low, hollow sigh. The heart monitor next to him let out a high-pitched beep at one-second intervals, as it had been doing for the past few weeks. Earlier that month, Matthew had been admitted to the hospital for a high fever, and things just kept getting worse from there. The doctor's diagnosis had been a cold, but medication wasn't helping, and the northern country's health was dropping rapidly.

A cold was such a stupid thing for the Canadian to be here for. He had lived his entire life with snow and ice, making him nearly immune to the 'disease', if such a basic sickness could be called that. Nonetheless, there he was, fever boiling his blood as he sat in the room alone.

The nurses and doctors didn't know what to do, quite honestly. With every prescription they issued, the man just got sicker. It was getting to quite a dangerous point, with his fever rising a few degrees every day. Though they tried to reassure Matthew he'd be fine, the doctors were silently estimating the time before the young Canadian would be boiled in his own skin.

The truth was, Canada didn't really _want _to live anymore. He was so tired of trying to stand out. No matter what he did, the other countries hardly acknowledged his existence. They were too busy fumbling over his older brother to notice him. Not to mention that none of them seemed to remember his name. Even his own family had trouble getting it straight. There were so many times the maple-leaf country just wanted to scream, "Hey! Look at me!", but he knew he would still go unnoticed. That's the way his life was. Not even his own pet, Kumajirou, seemed to recognize him. Speaking of which, he wondered quietly how his polar bear was fairing.

The man looked up towards the white-plaster ceiling of his hospital room. he had been sick for three weeks, and nobody had visited him. He was so lonely... but Canada was no stranger to that sad feeling.

~xXx~

"Can I have his name, please?"

America stared at the nurse blankly. Her hands hovered over the keyboard expectantly.

"He's my brother," Alfred responded for the hundredth time. He knew that his brother was here, the country's name had just... slipped his mind.

"Yes, sir, I understand that, but for security reasons I can't let you in unless you give me his name." the nurse sighed, her forced smile shrinking.

"His name is...uh... It starts with an M." America stammered, trying to think of the name. Max? Mark? Matt? That was it. "Oh, yeah! It's Matthew, his name is Matthew!" the hero stated triumphantly.

The nurse nodded slowly. "Right," she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Matthew...Matthew Williams? He sure looks like he's related to you, Mr. Jones."

"Yup, that's him!" Al grinned. The nurse quickly told the man his sibling's room number a shooed him away. As he walked down the hallway, Alfred checked the room numbers on each door, making sure he wouldn't miss his brother's.

"Excuse me- Ah!"

Alfred tripped and regained his balance, hitting a nurse in the process. She stumbled backwards a bit, but quickly regained her composure. "E-Excuse me-" she stammered, looking up towards the southern country. "Oh, you look a lot like Mr. Williams. Is there any chance you could be related to him?"

"Y-Yah, dude. I'm Alfred Jones, s'nice to meet you. Are you his doctor? What's wrong with him? He's my little brother, so I totally need to know these things."

"Yes, of course." the nurse replied. Her face fell as she searched for Matthew's files. She eventually gave up and just told the man what she knew. "He came here with a cold, but it's gotten worse. You see, no matter what we do, he just gets worse. There's honestly nothing we can do to help. It's almost like his body doesn't _want_ to get better."

America shoved his hands into his pockets, his face concerned, a look which wasn't common to him. He shifted his feet and, after a moment of awkward silence, he thanked the nurse and continued to his brother's room. He put on his best hero's grin for his little brother, and strutted into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"'Sup, little bro! Don't worry, the hero's here to make sure the nurses totally don't screw up!" Canada's big brother boasted, raising his gloved hands into the air, as if beckoning the heavens to rain their praise upon him. Matthew sighed.

"Ah, maple..." he groaned. He was glad someone had realized he was in the hospital and had come to keep him company, but why did it have to be _Alfred?_

America's smile drooped as his blue eyes met his little brother's weak violet ones. Matthew's face was pale, and droplets of sweat slowly trailed down from his forehead due to his fever. He looked towards his older brother with the saddest of eyes.

"How's it goin', Mattie?" America said, trying to keep up his typical 'awesome' attitude by jumping into the stool beside his brother. "We were worried about 'cha during the World Meeting earlier this morning. I checked my phone, and it seems one 'a your doctors called me. So, here I am, as quick as a flash, bro!"

"They called you three weeks ago." Canada replied flatly, his voice choppy and worn, as if he had a sore throat. He turned to his brother, a look in his eyes that cried _'of course you didn't come.' _Alfred slouched in the chair with guilt. He patted his little brother on the head before his hand was batted away.

"Sorry, dude... I must not have checked. Maybe I forgot?"

"Wouldn't be the first time." the northern country snapped, which was entirely unlike him. America ignored this statement.

"Well...uh... I'll come here every day until you get better, bro, if that'll make you happy-" he offered, trying to make amends for not visiting until now. In response to his "apology", Canada rolled over with a pained grunt.

"America, don't make promises you can't keep," the Canadian retorted. Alfred raised an eyebrow, his brother's attitude obviously a surprise to him. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Al. I'm well aware of the fact that you don't _actually_ want to be here."

"Are you... mad at me?" the older of the two questioned, wondering if this was the cause of his brother's temper. Matthew replied by simply burying his face in the bedsheets of his cot. America overlooked the reaction. "Don't worry bro- I'll totally stay here until you get better!" he said, trying again to improve the atmosphere.

"I don't plan on getting any better," Canada sighed, rolling over yet again so that he was staring at the ceiling. "What's the point? Honestly, Al, I haven't got any _drive, _there's no real reason for me keep wanting to live. The nurses and doctors try convincing me that the medicine is working and I'm getting better, but I know I'm just getting worse... and I really don't care."

"Come on, Canada, not cool! Don't say that, dude, that's... that's awful, bro!" America said, grabbing his younger brother by the shoulders and shaking him on the bed. He only stopped the joggling when a haggard cough escaped the the younger man's lips. He pulled back quickly upon this reaction, but the his worried expression had yet to disappear. His brother had practically just announced that, in a way, he was suicidal, and America wasn't very happy with that. Even though the man wasn't threatening his life or even claiming he wanted to kill himself, saying he didn't want to live any more- didn't have the _will _to live anymore- was practically just as bad.

"Think about your country, and your boss. You need to take car of them!" America said, clenching his hand into a fist and desperately thinking up reasons why Mattie needed to get well.

"My boss forgets me pretty much every time I walk into his office, and my country doesn't really need a Matthew Williams in it anyways; it's pretty damn populated without me." Canada sighed, his face glued to the ceiling.

"Don't be such a pessimist, dude," Alfred retorted, his eyes rolling. "What about England? England raised us both, he'll be all pissed off if you stay sick and don't get better!"

The Canadian just looked at Alfred as a reply to this reason, before he simply answered, "England didn't care about me for any reason other than as territory. You're the one he liked, you were the perfect brother. I was just_ there. _And, unless he's invisible, I haven't noticed him here freaking out because I've come down with something."

At this point, America was getting agitated with his brother's snappish attitude.

"France, then. France raised you before Britain, and France would be all worried if you got any sicker."

"Yah, once he remembered that I'm _Canada, _not _America." _

Alfred took this confusing and somewhat vague answer as an insult, as if his brother was blaming him. He had received the same statement from his brother's other responses. He slouched down into the stool, and decided he should stop trying to give Mattie reasons why willpower was important when he didn't even know what his brother was mad about. He sat in the chair, finally realizing what defeat felt like.

"Okay Mattie, you know what? It's your turn." he sighed.

"My...my what?" Matthew replied, confused. He sat up and looked at his brother with two violet eyes.

"Your turn to talk. I'm listening. Just... can you please just tell me why you're so upset all of a sudden?"

"You... You're actually gonna listen to me? You, of all people, are actually gonna sit across from me and let me speak?" the younger brother actually looked surprised, as if this was a rare occasion. Because it was. Nobody ever listened to him.

"I'm waiting." America replied, his blue eyes glued on Canada. The young man paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts before returning his own gaze to his brother.

"I'm just... tired, Alfred," Matthew sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "I'm just tired of trying to stand out in the crowd... honestly, America, it doesn't make sense. Nobody remembers who I am, or even acknowledges me unless I'm mistaken for you. I'm in your shadow every moment of my life, and sometimes I don't even exist. I'm so mad. So, so, so, so, SO mad. I'm really no good at showing anger, but I'm just tired of trying to hold it all in. I'm tired of dealing with all the crap I keep getting handed. Ever since I was little, Al, you've been more important. It wasn't so bad in France's house, and he still does remember me on occasion. It was when I was taken by Britain that everything started going downhill. Listen, America... I know you've never felt the feeling of being forgotten before, so I'm going to try and describe it to you." As Matthew took a long breath, America wheeled his stool towards the wall and leaned against it, conveying that he was still listening with a nod.

"I guess... the best way for me to explain it is through my past, in Britain's house. Every morning I would wake up in that house and walk downstairs. Britain would be playing around with you and laughing, and I would end up having to get breakfast for myself. I didn't play with you, as you know. Britain did, because he was more interesting, at least in your words. According to my memory, Britain was always too busy to play with me, but the second you asked, he'd drop everything and spend time with you. Did you know, America, that there were times when the two of you left the house to go do something, and you actually forgot to bring me along? One time, though I was a toddler- even younger than you!- I was left alone in a house for more than three days. _Days! _That may not seem like a lot to you now, but I was so little... and it was _so scary! _I wasn't tall enough to reach any light switches, and you were gone for so long. Honestly, America, even when I look back on it today, I still cringe. How could someone like Britain who loved you so much and freaked out whenever you got a paper cut just leave me alone in a house for three days? I guess... he was just too busy with you, Alfred. It's awful that it happened, but if he was too busy, I guess it made sense."

Alfred looked at his brother in astonishment. His younger brother was looking at him sadly, and he took another breath, his laundry list of problems still not complete. What was the most shocking part, in his own opinion, was that America had never noticed this happening to his younger brother. He remembered the three day trip Matthew spoke of, when they had been visiting Finland. The older brother hadn't even noticed the absence of his younger counterpart... which was sickening, to say the least.

"Now I'm older, America. I can take care of myself now, so I don't have to be scared of being alone. And yet, I am. It's weird, I know, that a grown man is actually _scared _of being alone. Maybe that's not the word. I'm not scared, just... nervous, I guess. Every time I'm alone, I just get all anxious and worried that I'm not actually _real. _It's kinda hard to explain, Al. It's like... I have time to think that the reason people ignore me isn't because I'm not interesting enough... but that I'm not actually there. It's really stupid, I know."

There was a long moment of silence, and Canada dropped his gaze to the bed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Those were stupid reasons, I know."

"Dude..." America responded, surprisingly quiet for such a 'hero'. "You must hate me, bro. I'm an asshole, huh?"

Canada looked towards his brother and answered quickly, "You're not a bad brother or anything...maybe... I guess I just want to be a real person, not "America". I want somebody to say, 'hey Canada! I need you to do this!' or 'hey Canada! Let's go do this together!' Honestly, Alfred, I wouldn't even mind 'hey Canada! You're an awful, terrible, disgusting person who deserves to die!' as long as they were directing it to me and not... you." The blonde paused for a moment before continuing with a sniffle. "I just want to be noticed, Alfred. I just want to be recognized, and have friends who... who actually say hello to me in the morning, friends who invite me out for stuff, friends who don't beat me up if they mistake me for someone else. I want people to say my name. I want people to see me and not say 'who's he again?' but actually know me, recognize me, remember me... and if I die, I won't have to deal with being by myself. In heaven, there's nice people, or so they say! Heck, even hell's got people in it. And if there's just nothingness after death, I'll have nothing to deal with, right? Oh, god Alfred, I hate being alone!"

As he finished his last sentence, Canada began to sob. He pulled his knees close to his face and cried. America looked towards the northern nation with a face full of guilt. He had never seen his brother cry before, mostly because he'd never really paid any attention to the man's feelings. And, quite frankly, America didn't know what to do now. He wasn't really the 'soothing' type, but more of a 'how-about-I-kick-your-ass' kind of guy. And yet now he, who was supposed to be the hero, had no _clue _what to do. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and wheeled his stool over to wear Canada was weeping. He then pulled the man into an embrace, a lot like the hugs he himself remembered getting from England during his childhood. The hugs Canada had never been 'good enough' for.

"Bro... Canada... I didn't know..." Alfred didn't know what to say. It was like talking to an abused child- you couldn't just say 'I know how you feel'. America knew, as much as he wished it possible, that he couldn't change the crap his brother had been through and he had no idea how to make the Canadian want to live through another day. From how the man had explained it, life was torture. "I'm not as awesome a big bro as I thought I was, if this is how I treat you. Dude... I know you say everybody hates you and stuff, but... if this freakin' cold kills you, not only will you be the lamest excuse for a country ever, but... I'd miss you. If you died, Mattie, I'd miss you for sure, and if that's not good enough for you, then I don't know what to say."

America had just barely finished his speech when a nurse came into the room, informing him that visiting hours were over. Canada was still crying when America was lead out of the room.

"Please, ma'am, I need to talk to him again-" Alfred began as the door closed.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've let you stay ten minutes past curfew already. If anything goes wrong, we'll give you a call, how's that sound?"

"...Fine, thank you." America nodded, turning on his heel and walking away with nothing more than a quick look over his shoulder.

~xXx~

"Urrgh..." America groaned. He rolled over and fell out of his bed in one motion. His eyes opened in agitation, assuming it had been his alarm clock that woke him. However, much to his surprise, it was still dark outside. Only two in the morning.

"Not cool..." Alfred sighed, climbing back into his bed. It was then that he realized what had woken him up.

The blonde turned towards his dresser where his phone was vibrating loudly. He grumbled angrily and picked it up, wondering who the hell would be calling him this early in the morning. He checked the caller I.D. and nearly dropped the phone, realizing quickly it was the hospital calling. The nurse's words from earlier returned to his head.

_If anything goes wrong, I'll give you a call._

Did something go wrong? Was Matthew okay? Worried thoughts flew through the American's mind, which made his head swim. He nervously answered the call.

"Hello?" he murmured. He listened intently to the woman on the other end of the line. After a period of time, he nodded and said, "Thank you," before clicking off the phone. He fell back onto his bed with a sigh and ran the nurse's words through hid head one more time.

_Hello, Mr. Jones. It's a miracle! Mr. Williams' body is accepting our medicine now, and he's getting better quickly. He should be out of the hospital in a few days. He's going to be okay._

_He's going to be okay._

"Thank god," the older brother smiled.

* * *

**A/N: ...Sorry. That was a little too OOC, huh? If you have any feedback (or even if you don't) I would love a review! Favorites are great as well! Anyways, if you read the entire story, I applaud you. To everyone who reads this: you are amazing, fantastic, wonderful people! I don't know, maybe I'll do more one-shots in the future :)**


End file.
